


your string of lights are still bright to me

by bravestyles



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Military, Minor Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, coming home, some self-harming behavior but it's not intentional
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:47:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22012063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravestyles/pseuds/bravestyles
Summary: Louis' used to this by now. The coming and going, the constant fear in his veins, the small smiles of sympathy. He's used to Grace's questions; when's Daddy coming home? Will he be here for my birthday? Can I call him tonight? At first, whenever she questioned him, it sent anger swirling around violently in his heart. Harry's the one who signed up for this -- not Louis, and definitely not Grace. But now, after four years, he's grown numb to her questions, had to. And the older she gets, the less questions she asks, anyways. She's used to this by now, too.But this. . . Harry coming home and staying home for good. . . Neither of them are used to this.or,Harry comes back from the military, and he's suffering with PTSD.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 14
Kudos: 148





	your string of lights are still bright to me

**Author's Note:**

> title: innocent - taylor swift
> 
> hope you like it xx

Louis' used to this by now. The coming and going, the constant fear in his veins, the small smiles of sympathy. He's used to Grace's questions;  _ when's Daddy coming home? Will he be here for my birthday? Can I call him tonight?  _ At first, whenever she questioned him, it sent anger swirling around violently in his heart.  _ Harry's _ the one who signed up for this -- not Louis, and definitely not Grace. But now, after four years, he's grown numb to her questions, had to. And the older she gets, the less questions she asks, anyways. She's used to this by now, too. 

But this. . . Harry coming home and staying home for good. . . Neither of them are used to this. This feeling of happiness and pride and joy, but also the inexplicable dread he has in the pit of his stomach. Not that he isn't excited for Harry to come home -- he is, he's fucking ecstatic --, it's just that he has this feeling of impending doom that Harry's somehow, someway not on that plane right now. That something has gotten mixed up, that there's been a mistake. That he's dead, and that Louis' going to have to watch everybody pile out of that stupid plane, watch it empty and still not have Harry home. 

"I think I see him," Grace squeals, her hand clutching Louis' tightly. She's pointing somewhere off in the distance. 

He looks down at her softly. "The plane's not even landed yet, love," he tells her, but despite himself, he wobbles on his tip-toes to search. He does that a lot. He'll be in a crowded grocery store, far from wherever Harry is, and he'll find himself searching for Harry there, like somehow he's there. He never is. Of course he isn’t. 

"Oh," she murmurs, pouting. "When does it land again?"

"Ten minutes, babe."

"Ten minutes," she echoes, shifting her weight on her feet nervously. 

He squeezes her hand harder then he probably should, but he can't help himself. Grace is finally going to get to know Harry. Really know him, not just staring at him shyly whenever he's not looking while he's home. Harry left when she was one, and since then, he's been almost a stranger to his daughter. Harry's writes letters and they Skype every chance he has, but she doesn't know how much Harry loves to cook or how big his heart it. She doesn't know how silly he gets when he's tired, or how much he likes to sing. She'll find that all out and learn to cherish it, and shit, Louis' going to fucking cry if he doesn't stop thinking about it.

Three minutes later, she looks up at Louis, eyes wide. Her blonde hair is messily tied into two uneven pigtails, since she was too fussy this morning for Louis to get it right. "Will Daddy be coming to my school on Thursday? For the meetings?"

Parent-teacher conferences are this Thursday, in two days. She's missing school right now to be here at the airport. "Probably not, baby," he tells her, smiling. "He's going to have to adjust himself to everyday life again. I don't know if he'll be ready for that by Thursday." 

Louis remembers how he learned his lesson on that; Harry was home for a little while, and Jay invited them over for dinner two days after he got back. He had a panic attack in her bathroom. It was the scariest thing Louis ever had to witness. 

"Oh," she says sadly. 

"Hey, none of that," he says, sternly. He bends down next to her and slides his thumb over her cheek. "He'll be there for everything as soon as he's able to, okay?"

"Okay." She nods, and Louis' about to explain to her how Harry’s going to need a few days to himself, but before he can, she's already looking back at the sea of people, standing on her toes, searching. 

His heart flutters in his chest. He hasn't let himself wonder how hard the adjustment is going to be for Harry, not yet. Louis never gave it any thought, not really, but one night over Skype when Grace had fallen asleep against his chest, Harry had told him that he was scared to come back home.  _ "I don't know where I fit anymore,"  _ he whispered.  _ "I don't know who I am in London. I'm not who I was four years ago, but that person is who I go back to whenever I'm home. I won't be able to do that this time around".  _ Louis never knew Harry pretends when he's home. Aside from that one panic attack in his mother's bathroom, Harry has never had too much of a problem being at home. He's got a feeling that's not going to be the case now. 

"There he is!" she shouts, tugging on Louis' arm. 

He sighs, glancing down at her again. Her whole face is lit up. "Darling, he's got five more minutes -- "

"Look!" she squeals again, pulling on his arm harsher. "Daddy's right there, we gotta go, let's go." 

"Grace," he murmurs, but again, he finds himself looking where she's pointing, and -- "Oh my god."

He's right there. Harry's right there, he's right fucking there. He's looking at the ground, pulling his luggage behind him. He's not wearing his complete uniform, just the pants and boots paired with a loose black t-shirt. His dog tags shift every few seconds, and it never fails to stun Louis how different Harry looks with short hair. None of that matters, though, not really. What matters is that he's alive, and that he's home, and he's right fucking here. He's right here.

Grace starts pulling him forward, and this time, he lets himself be dragged. She drags him all the way to Harry, who is still looking at the ground. Before Louis can tell her better, she lets go of his hand and practically leaps at Harry, her arms going to cling at his legs. Louis, who's still way too many feet behind, watches as Harry jolts in panic, eyes wide. Louis can see him tense, and he's seconds away from shoving Grace off his leg until he sees that it's her, that it's only his daughter, and his panic expression melts away into a smile. He lets go of his luggage to pick her up. He holds her close to his chest, squeezing probably too tight. It only takes a few seconds for Harry to glance up in wonder of where Louis is.

"Hi," Louis whispers, tears heavy in his eyes. Harry reaches out and grabs his shirt before pulling him towards them. The three of them cry too much and hug too hard for way too long, but it's okay. It's okay because Grace is crying happily into Harry's neck and Harry's holding them both so, so tight. It's okay because Louis isn't going to be the first to let go, and neither is Harry, so it's up to Grace to ask to be put down. There's probably hundreds of other things to take notice of right now, but Louis' mostly stuck on Harry's smell, a healthy mix of sweat and vanilla. It’s almost nauseating; Louis hasn't gotten to smell him in four whole fucking months. A smell can't travel through a screen, but it doesn't have to anymore, because Harry's here, he's home. He's finally home. 

The dogs go absolutely haywire when Harry walks through the door. Alfie, Molly, and Clifford bark and whine and whimper as Harry drops to the floor to pet all of them. Bella, their newest addition, doesn't exactly understand, because Louis only got her two months ago and she's never met Harry before. She's shy and timid, so she mostly sticks to hiding behind Louis' legs, but she keeps sniffing and whining quietly as she tries to recognize the person in front of her.

"Where are the cats?" Harry asks, smiling wide as Molly licks at his face. 

Louis, who's crying for no good reason, wipes at his cheeks. "Smokey and Cleo went outside this morning." He's stupid for letting them out, he should've kept them in for Harry, but old habits die hard and he was too tired to think anything of it. "Milo's probably hiding from all of the noise."

Harry nods. He doesn't look too worked up over it, and that's probably because he has three giant dogs all leaping to get his attention. They don't stop until a half hour later, but even then, as Harry walks around the house to remind himself of everything, Clifford follows closely behind him. He's the first dog they got together, so it's to be expected that he misses Harry the most. 

Louis gives Harry his time; again, he's used to this, he knows the drill. Harry's terrified of things changing without him being there to witness it, and he needs to make sure that everything has stayed almost exactly the same. Grace knows by now, too, and she does her homework quietly at the kitchen table while Louis watches her, his heart feeling like it's going to burst. 

He's helping her spell the word 'school' when Harry comes back. Louis notices him standing by the doorway immediately, always on high alert when Harry's home, and he glances up, smiles softly. Harry looks a bit upset, and his heart sinks. 

"What is it?" he asks, feeling a bit breathless. Grace looks up now, too. 

Harry shakes his head, and then visibly swallows, and he looks everywhere but Louis. "The walls. In Gracie's room, they. . ." He runs a hand over his head. "I thought we agreed on purple." He clears his throat. "For the walls, I mean."

It's weird how Louis can pick out every twitch of a muscle and every shifty movement Harry makes, but it's too hard not to. He knows he should've forewarned Harry about the paint change. About two years ago he replaced the carpet without letting Harry know beforehand, and when Harry managed to come home for a few weeks, he had gotten so mad at Louis, and Louis remembered feeling small, smaller than Harry has ever made him feel. 

"She changed her mind at the last minute," Louis says slowly. "She wanted yellow, and I," he smiles sheepishly, "I must've forgot to tell you. I'm sorry."

He nods jerkily. "It's fine, I --" he shakes his head, a fake laugh forcing its way from his throat. "It's fine, I'm just being stupid, I -- "

"No," Louis quickly assures, frowning. "You aren't being stupid, love."

"Yellow's fine," he replies. He finally looks at Louis, and his eyes look frantic, almost. It's strange. "I'm going to shower, I think." Another forced laugh. "Get out of these filthy clothes."

Louis nods, slow. Something's so obviously off with him, and even though Louis can't quite put his finger on it, he's already worrying. "Do you want to be alone?" 

It's another one of Harry's weird things when he's back; there's times where he wants to be completely alone, not even accompanied by one of the cats, but then there's also times where he's never more than a foot away from Louis. Then, it seemed normal. Now, Louis wonders if he just wanted it to be. 

"No," Harry whispers, and he sounds guilty. Ashamed.

"Okay." He kisses the side of Grace's head and tells her that they'll be right back, and if she needs anything, knock on the bathroom door. She nods without looking up, concentrating heavily on writing a 'h'. 

They don't do anything sexual in the shower, because it feels too soon and too much right now. Instead, Harry faces the wall with his head down as Louis washes his back and his hair, whispering embarrassingly sweet things to Harry. It doesn't take him long to notice that Harry's shoulders are shaking, and he lets himself ignore it for a while, but then he runs out of places on Harry’s backside to wash. 

"Lovely," Louis whispers, crowding him in from behind. He wraps his arms around Harry's middle, pulling him close. He kisses his shoulder as water now flows onto both of them, and he waits. He knows not to push Harry when he's upset. Eventually, though, Harry turns around in his arms and grabs Louis' chin with his thumb and pointer finger.

"I missed you," he says, voice thick with tears. 

"I missed you, too.” And it's true, it's so painfully true. There were too many nights Louis couldn't sleep because there was an aching feeling in his chest, and those were the times that Louis convinced himself that that was it, that Harry was dead, had to have been. 

Harry leans down to press his forehead against Louis' shoulder, and Louis' hands shake as they rub down Harry's back. He can feel the tension radiating off him, can feel how distraught Harry is. "I'm so scared," he confesses into Louis' skin. 

Louis shushes him quietly, holds him close. "There's nothing to be scared of here, baby. Everything's safe right here. You're safe."

It's quiet for a long time, and the water's gone cold, but neither of them care. Louis thinks that his words are getting through to Harry, but after that beat of silence, his fingers tighten around Louis' hips. "I thought I'd feel better since I'm home. Thought I'd. . . thought everything would be okay again." He turns his head in Louis' neck, his breath hot against his skin. "Everything feels so much worse."

The silence draws out a lot longer after that, because Louis doesn't have the words to make it better. 

"The side door's locked, right?"

Louis opens his eyes, sleep begging him to shut them again. Harry's hovering over him, eyes wide, and Louis frowns. He reaches out to cup Harry's jaw in hopes of grounding him. "Yes, babe. You checked it ten minutes ago, didn't you?"

Harry shakes his head. "Not the side door. I checked the back and the front, but not the one on the side."

He's never been this paranoid before, and Louis' not sure what to make of it. They climbed into bed an hour ago, and Harry's left to check the locks on the windows and doors once already. "It's locked, Harry." He tries to keep his voice stern, tries to make sure it gets through to Harry. 

It doesn't. "But what if it's not?"

"Harry," he says harshly. "Listen to me. It's locked." Harry glances at the door, and Louis knows there's nothing he can say to make him trust him. Louis sighs, lets his hand drop from Harry's face. "Go check, then. Quickly. And only the side door."

Louis tries to stay awake for him, he does, but ten minutes go by and sleep doesn't let him wait any longer. 

The next morning, his worry for Harry only grows further. He's not in bed, and it's not fair because that's one of the things Louis misses most while Harry's away, waking up next to someone. Louis drags himself to the bathroom to take a piss, and by the time he's done, he's a bit more awake. He shoves his glasses on before wonders downstairs in search of Harry, and when he finds him, he's sitting criss-crossed with his back against the front door. Cleo's in his lap, and he's stroking at her fur distractedly as he reads whatever book he's reading. It's worn and tattered, and Louis wonders if he had it with him overseas. Probably. 

"Babe," Louis calls quietly. Why is he sitting on the ground in front of the door? It's not like they live in a bad neighborhood, and Harry checked to make sure the doors were locked. 

Despite his quiet voice, Harry startles, hands going to grab as his pocket. Instinct, maybe; Louis' not sure what kind of weapons those in the army are required to carry, or where. 

"It's just me," Louis whispers, his frown deepening. Harry relaxes slightly, laughing nervously as he avoids any eye contact with Louis. "How long have you been sitting here?" he asks, before sitting down next to him. He scooches in close, wraps his arms around one of Harry's. 

"All night," Harry admits quietly. Louis closes his eyes, sighing gently, and Harry tenses. "I know, okay? I know. Don't say anything, because I know."

So Louis doesn't say anything, he just rests his head against Harry's shoulder and reads along with whatever Harry's reading. 

It goes on like that for the rest of the day; Harry doing small, suspicious things that makes Louis' heart sing with worry. When Louis came back from taking Grace to school, Harry was sitting in the corner of the living room with his head in his hands. When Louis accidentally stepped on Bella's foot and she yelped, Harry jolted with panic, his breath not evening out for a good twenty minutes afterwards. When Harry emerges from the shower breathless and eyes red, Louis doesn't say a word because he doesn't know what to say. He's never been at a loss for words when it came to Harry, but fuck, he's completely lost on what to do here.

It becomes too serious to ignore the next day around 3:30. It's a time Louis is well acquainted with, because that's when he gets home around when picking up Grace from school. Today, though, Liam's picked her up so Harry and Louis could have a few extra minutes to themselves. He’s going to stay here with Grace as Louis goes to the parent teacher conferences. They were both grateful, and when Harry wasn't acting like a complete stranger, they spent that time in bed, relearning everything there was to know about each other. They're cuddling in bed, Louis draped across Harry's body and Harry's arms tight around him, watching some cooking show when it happens. The door opens downstairs, and Louis knows it's just Liam and Grace, but Harry jolts, his nails digging into Louis' arm. 

"What is that?" Harry whispers, eyes wide. 

"Grace is home," Louis says, eyebrows furrowed. "Liam got her. I told you that this morning." There's a loud bang, and Harry shakes his head frantically, scrambling out of bed. "Harry," Louis calls, but Harry doesn't listen. Instead, he drops to his hands and knees and  _ crawls _ to the side of the bed furthest from the door, Louis' side. Louis watches as he pulls his knees to his chest and sets his head on them, before wrapping his arms protectively around his head. Confusion and sorrow mix heavily in Louis' stomach. He's heard the horror stories of soldiers coming back from the army with PTSD, but Harry's never really presented symptoms of that. Until now, and now he's crying loudly and his fingers are digging into his arms. 

"Baby," Louis whispers, cautious. He lowers himself to the floor next to him, and Harry flinches terribly when Louis sets a hand on his back. "Haz, it's just Grace getting home from school. It's okay, it's safe here, it's -- "

"Go away," he chokes out, his fingernails gripping onto his own flesh tighter. "Go away. Please go away."

"Sweetheart," Louis breathes. 

Harry looks up then, and his eyes are blown wide, terrified. His cheeks are stained with tears and his lips are bitten open, and Louis realizes that, until now, he's never seen Harry afraid. Not like this. But Harry's well acquainted with fear; has been for the last four years. "Get out," he begs, actually begs. 

"It's safe here," he tries again, but Harry shakes his head and his nails sink in deeper. Louis wants to tell him to stop that, but the words get caught in his throat.

"Get  _ away  _ from me."

"Harry -- "

Harry's cheeks pool with blood as anger heats his veins, and then he's screaming at Louis, telling him to leave, to get away,  _ get the fuck away from me _ . Louis does, because Harry looks dangerous right now, and they both know fully well that Harry's had to do some terrible shit in his lifetime, and Louis doesn't want him to do anything stupid. He leaves the room with a heavy heart and shuts the door quietly. He slowly walks downstairs, his limbs feel as though they're weighted with lead. Grace and Liam are waiting for him when he enters the kitchen, and judging by their expressions, they heard Harry's pleads. 

"Is he okay?" Liam asks hesitantly. His hands tighten on Grace's shoulders. 

Maybe Louis should lie. No, he definitely should lie because his daughter is staring at him with fear evident in her eyes, but he can't. He shakes his head once, twice. "No, he whispers. “I don't think he is."

Harry never wanted to enlist in the army. He felt guilty about it -- ”A good citizen would want to fight for their country's freedom, Louis" --, but he never, ever had any interest in the war. He wanted to become a pediatrician his entire life, but that's not what was expected of him. Styles men fought in war, and if they didn't, then they were blacklisted from the family. And well, as a mummy's boy, Harry couldn't lose his family. 

"But what about  _ our  _ family?" Louis had asked, clutching a tiny Grace to his chest. But Harry was twenty-one then, and his father told him if he wasn't enlisted by his next birthday, then they were cutting him off. It's not like Louis and Harry would be homeless without Harry's parent's money, but the plan was from the minute they decided on kids is that Louis would quit work (but continue going to university for nursing) and stay home with Grace while Harry worked at his job at the studio and continue schooling. His parents had no problem with that and would pay for the fancy house and both of their schooling so long as Harry kept his end of the deal. The thing was, though, Harry didn't tell Louis that his part of the deal was  _ joining the fucking army _ until a baby was in his lap and Harry had just came home from enrolling himself into the army. Louis still hasn't forgiven him, but the hatred and anger quickly faded to heartbreak and sympathy when he saw how scared Harry was. 

From the day he enlisted all the way until the day he left for basic training, Harry had spent every night crying in Louis' arms. "I didn't want to," he'd cry, "I can't lose them". 

Harry Styles wasn’t fit for the fucking army, and everyone knew it, but they still pushed it on him. He wanted to heal kids and use his big heart for the better, not to aid in a war in which thousands of innocent people were dying. 

It took a year in the army for Harry to stop answering his family's letters. Anne had called Louis, hurt and confused, and Louis didn't have an answer for her. He had no clue why Harry had suddenly stopped writing to her but wrote to Louis every chance he got. Louis' answer was given a little later, when Harry had returned home for two weeks. They were both breathless and sweaty, still coming down from the high of sex, when Harry had turned to him. 

"I had to kill someone," he whispered. "They were going to kill Zayn." And from that night on, Harry had this distant look in his eyes whenever he zoned out, which was often. 

Maybe it isn't so hard to believe he’s experiencing PTSD now; he didn’t want to go to begin with, and he had all those traumas forced onto him. 

Harry stays holed up in their room until halfway through dinner. Louis’ been back from the meetings for about an hour, and both he and Liam are listening to Grace go on and on about school. She was quite pleased to hear that her teacher called her a ‘gold-star student’, even though Louis thinks that’s a bit of a cheap compliment. 

All three of them pause and still when the floorboards creak and they see Harry standing in the kitchen. He has Milo is his arms, and his cheeks are still red from crying, and Louis' stomach twists violently when his eyes land on the four crescent shaped marks on each of his arms, the ones that were clearly bleeding and have been lazily wiped clean. Louis stands quietly as he takes his sweatshirt off and walks over to hand it to Harry. Harry sets Milo on the floor before sliding it on, nodding slightly in agreement, and Louis doesn't realize he was wearing Harry's sweatshirt until he notices how well it fits on him. 

"Are you okay?" Louis asks, voice low. His hands feel compelled to touch some part of Harry, anywhere, but he's not sure what's allowed right now. 

Thankfully, Harry presses a small kiss to his forehead. "We'll talk after dinner, yeah?" He walks passed Louis to sit at the table, and Louis wishes Harry could just lie to him and tell him he's fine. 

"I'm sorry for yelling at you," Harry says casually, glancing at him. They're leaning against the railing of the stupid fancy deck in the backyard, the one that was bought with Harry's parent's filthy money. It's seven o'clock, barely dark now, and Grace wanted to play outside after Liam left. She's running around with the dogs, giggling loudly as they watch. 

"Don't be." Louis leans against Harry's arm. They've been together for nine years, and his stomach still gets all tingly whenever he's touching Harry. "You were scared. I can't be mad at you for something you did out of fear." 

Harry shakes his head before murmurs, "Everything feels wrong.” Even after four years of intense, horrifying pain, Harry still hasn't lost the need to be honest with Louis. Louis’ grateful. " _ I  _ feel wrong. Like I don't belong here, or something."

"You belong here," he tells him quickly, furrowing his eyebrows. "This is your house, your family. This is your _ home _ , love. It's exactly where you belong."

A small silence takes over, and they watch as Clifford tackles Alfie and Grace screeches happily. Bella watches from afar, too small and timid to join, even though it's obvious she wants to. After a minute or two of observing, Harry knocks his shoulder against Louis'. Louis hums in response. 

"Have you," Harry starts, and then he stops. Louis glances at him worriedly. His face is pulled together angrily, and Louis waits for him to find his words. He does, eventually. "Are my parents okay?" He looks embarrassed, like he shouldn't care or something. "Healthy, I mean. Are they even still alive?"

Harry hasn't let Louis talk about his parents in years. Louis talks to them still, because he wants their daughter to have as many loving people in her life as possible, and to let them know Harry's still alive. But Harry has never wanted to hear about them until now. "They're okay. Alive, and everything. Anne and Des aren't together anymore, though." He tells him this cautiously, not sure how Harry's going to take it.

He doesn't even flinch. "Has she found someone else yet?"

"Yeah." Louis' heart is racing; Harry's scaring him right now. He sounds so far away. "His name is Robin. He's lovely."

Harry scoffs, shakes his head. He mutters something incoherent, and then asks, "Has Gracie met him?"

"Yeah, and she loves him." Maybe Louis shouldn't have allowed them to meet, or kept some boundaries, but Robin absolutely adores Grace and Grace loves him right back. "He's sweet, Haz. Take my word on it."

He nods. "I want to meet him, then." His eyes are heavy as they stare into Louis'. It's almost too much. "If our daughter is going anywhere near him, I want to know who he is."

"Of course. He normally takes her home from school on Friday's. You can meet him then."

Harry doesn't respond, and then it's quiet again. The silence carries on for the next half hour, but Louis knows Harry's not too far gone in his own head because he keeps rubbing circles into Louis' forearm. When Grace finally decides she's done, she runs into the house, taking the whole lot with her. It's just the two of them now, and Harry turns to him. Tears sparkle in his eyes, and it breaks Louis' heart that much more. 

"What is it, love?" Louis asks, voice cracking slightly. 

"I did all of this to avoid losing them," he says, "and then I lost them anyways. What was the point?" A hysterical laugh catches in his throat. "Do they even know I'm back? Would they  _ care _ ?" Before Louis can answer any of it, Harry shakes his head and follows Grace inside. 

It's day two of Harry being back home, and he's never felt more far away.

Harry's tense. Like, wildly tense. Constantly. 

It's something Louis is somewhat familiar with, something that isn't so new like the heavy breathing at the slightest of noises or the constant alarm in Harry's eyes are. Harry's always been tense when he's back, and Louis thinks that's a given. Any normal person would be on edge after emerging themselves into everyday life after months and months of living in anything but normal. 

Somehow, it's different this time. Even after the sleeping at the front door stops, it’s still not normal. It's got Louis' gut twisting left and right. Harry's paranoia has him waiting for something bad to happen, and Louis' not far off.

It's one of those days where Harry is never more than a foot away from him. When Louis showered this morning to make sure he was ready for Grace's conferences, Harry thought it a good time to brush his teeth, twice, take a piss, wash his hands for way longer than two minutes, and eventually started to organize the medicine cabinet. Louis wasn't annoyed, not in the slightest. It's not his fault. 

Harry watches him cook breakfast and curls up at his feet while they watch TV. When Louis goes to take the dogs out for a walk, Harry looks so, so incredibly anxious that it makes Louis want to throw up. 

"You've got to stay here, H," he whispers, feeling sorry. He really should've waited until Grace was awake so she and Harry could come with. It’s a Saturday, so she’s home from school. "I'll be back in ten minutes, okay? We'll only go around the block a few times."

Harry nods stiffly. "Yeah, yeah. Of course."

"You can go wake Grace, maybe," he offers, leaning against the door. The dogs are getting antsy by his feet, not understanding why they're taking so long to leave. "It's eight, it's not too early. You won't have to be alone." 

Instantly, Harry shakes his head. Almost too fast, it feels like. Louis frowns, and Harry notices it quickly and he sighs. "She wouldn't know what to do with herself around me for ten minutes without you here, too." He sounds so sad, so disappointed. 

"That's not -- Haz, you've got to know that's not true." Louis lets go of the dog's leashes and grabs Harry's cheeks, thumbs pressingly harshly against his cheekbones. "She loves you, okay? You're her father."

"She has no clue who I am," Harry argues. "It feels like she's waiting for me to be gone again. Like she wants me to be."

Anger pools in Louis' stomach. His eyebrows furrow and his lips are pursed. "Harry. She's adjusting, okay? Just like you. You have no clue how much she misses you when you're gone, you -- " Louis curses, his fingers pressing deeper into Harry's skin. "She loves you, sweetheart. Trust me."

Harry just nods so the conversation is over, not because he believes it. Louis sighs and presses a kiss to his forehead before picking up the leashes and leaving. Most days, Louis and Grace walk the dogs around the neighborhood for at least thirty minutes. Today, they just go around the block once. 

He catches Harry digging his nails under his skin again a few days later. It's Sunday now, and Harry's been mostly silent since he met Robin earlier. He liked him, and Louis thinks that's the problem. They're watching a movie as Grace sleeps -- Harry's pick:  _ Toy Story 4 _ \-- and Louis' pretty sure that he doesn't even realize he's doing it. But he is, and Louis watches him coax his nails deeper and deeper into his skin. 

"Hey," Louis whispers. Even Grace knows by now that she has to quietly get Harry's attention before talking, or he'll jolt in panic. Harry still tenses, but he slowly looks at Louis. "Stop doing that." Harry's fingers immediately still, and oh, so he does know he's doing that. 

"Sorry," he mumbles, looking back at the TV. He detaches his nails from his skin, but his fingertips stick around to poke and prod at the sore skin. "Habit."

"What kind of habit?"

Harry glances at him again, and now, he looks careful. Louis shouldn't have asked; there's been no mention of any details of any kind regarding his last tour. He shouldn't have fucking asked. "Helps me keep calm," he says, and his tongue sounds thick. "Like, it gives me something else to think about. I don't know. It helped there."

"Oh," Louis whispers. "Well, I'm sure we can come up with something else now that you're home." Harry looks at him blankly, like he doesn't understand. "To keep you calm, I mean."

He shrugs. "Zayn's tried to get me to stop hundreds of times. Nothing works." 

God, Louis is so fucking glad Harry had someone like Zayn there with him. Louis' met him a couple of times, and there's nobody other than himself that he'd rather out there with Harry. To think he was looking out for Harry comforted him immensely. 

"How is he?” Louis asks.” Zayn. We can have him over for dinner some time, if you'd like."

"Zayn's dead, Louis" Harry says flatly, and then turns his head and goes back to staring at the screen. 

It hits Louis like a ton of bricks. No fucking wonder why Harry has been so off, he lost his best friend, what the _ hell _ . Why didn't he tell him, why didn't -- God, fuck.  _ Fuck. _ Harry should be crying, shouldn't he? He should be doing something, something to show Louis that he cares, that he's capable of feeling  _ something _ , but Harry doesn't, just keeps watching the movie. 

"Harry," he chokes out. 

"He's been dead for eight months, Louis," Harry tells him easily, like it makes everything okay. It just makes everything worse, because they've  _ seen each other _ , face to face, in last eight months, fuck -- Harry has told him new things about Zayn in his letters in the last eight months. Why didn't he tell him? 

"How?" Louis asks. It's insensitive and cruel, but he's scrambling to find out why. Why, why, why. How's lead to why's. 

Harry shrugs again. "I couldn't save him," he says. He looks at Louis, and the stare is so distant and cold, Louis has to look away. "It was my job to watch after him, and I," he laughs, loud and hoarse, "I got distracted. There were these kids, Louis. These kids, they were just. . . sitting there, watching us. They couldn't have been older than ten, and then." He laughs again, and Louis' pretty sure he'll crumble if he does it again. "Zayn was talking to one of them, joking around. I was laughing, and he was laughing, and the kids were laughing, and then all of a sudden, there was this other guy. He appeared out of fucking thin air, Louis, and he just shot him."

"I'm sorry," Louis breathes, his head whirling. 

"I was freaking out, you know?" He chokes on a sob, and Louis doesn't feel bad that he's thankful he's feeling something. "And I grabbed my gun and I just shot blindly, and -- "

"Don't," Louis pleads. He knows how this ends, and he doesn't want to hear it, he doesn't want to fucking hear it.

Harry doesn't listen. "I shot one of the kids. A little girl, I don't -- I don't even know how I missed so badly, I just. I shot her, right in the fucking head." His hand comes out to grab Louis' cheek, makes Louis look at him. His eyes are filled with tears and hurt and pain, and Louis feels lightheaded. "It was an accident, Louis."

"I know it was," Louis says, because of course it was. Harry would never do that intentionally, never in a million years. "I know." He's crying now, too.

"It was an accident," he says again, and he's got that same glossy look in his eyes as he did the afternoon he was screaming at Louis to leave. "I didn't mean to, I -- I tried to save her, I did, I swear. Some of the other guys in our troop were already moving Zayn's body, and I -- God, Louis, I tried to save her, but she was already gone. She, fuck, I  _ killed _ her."

"It was an accident," Louis says sternly, grabbing Harry's shoulders. Harry falls into his arms as though he was waiting for permission, sobs into his collarbones. 

"I didn't mean to." His fingernails claw against Louis' skin. Better his than Harry's. "I didn't-- it was an accident, I swear, I swear, Louis, you have to believe me, I -- "

"I do believe you," he says into Harry's hair, "I do, I believe you."

"I never wanted any of this," Harry cries, and fuck. Louis shouldn't have fucking asked.

Louis dreams a lot. It's weird, because he can't remember having a ton of dreams when he was younger, but ever since Harry left for basic training, Louis dreams and dreams and dreams. It's nice, is the thing. An escape from reality that Louis so desperately needs sometimes. The dreams are usually about Harry coming home and being safe and being so, so warm. Or they're about Grace, and those are always a bit more weird than the ones with Harry. When Grace is in his dreams, it's usually in space or at the zoo. They always have fun in those dreams, of course, but when he wakes, Louis wonders if he subconsciously wishes he could give Grace something more. 

He's dreaming about talking dogs when he feels something warm press against his jaw. His brain twists it into his dream, but Louis knows deep down that it's not part of it, and when the warmth spreads to his cheek and then turns into a harsh bite on his ear lobe, he wakes up, slow and syrupy. 

"What's going on?" he slurs, going to rub at his face. His hand knocks into something solid and warm, and when he opens his eyes, he realizes that it's Harry. It should be creepy or something, someone hovering over him as he sleeps, but he can't dwell on that right now, not with Harry nibbling at his neck and collarbone. "What time is it?"

"Doesn't matter," Harry murmurs in response. The thing is, though, is that Louis' so, so tired and drained still, he's almost positive he hasn't been sleeping for long. He groans quietly, tiredly patting at Harry's head and turning to glance at the clock. 

"Haz, it's three o'clock in the morning, come on." 

Harry's relentless, though, and he keeps sucking little bruises into his skin. Louis' about to give in and make his own marks on Harry's neck, but then something wet hits his jaw. He ignores it at first, waves it off as spit or something else. It happens again, and Louis' not so willing to ignore it. He fumbles around, confused and disoriented in the dark. He reaches to click on the lamp next to their bed, and like he knows he's going to be caught, Harry stops working on his neck and sits up. His eyes are wet, and so are his cheeks, and it takes Louis' tired brain to connect the dots. "Oh," he whispers. "Why are you crying, love?"

Harry shakes his head and leans down to add to his collection on Louis' neck, but Louis catches his jaw. Lately, it's almost hard to look Harry straight in the eyes. He looks hard and cold and intimidating, and almost like a stranger. "I can't sleep," Harry says after a few moments. "I can't sleep anymore."

Louis frowns. Surely, he would have noticed if Harry couldn’t sleep. He does look so, so tired, though, and maybe Louis' not as good of a husband as he thought he was. "When's the last time you slept?"

"Friday night," he grumbles, sounding angry. It's early on Monday morning, and it doesn't take a brain surgeon to realize that's not fucking normal. "Only for a few hours, though." He sighs, resting his forehead against Louis' jaw. He moves around so he's tucked safely into Louis' side, and Louis holds him as fiercely as he can muster right now. "I had a bad dream. Keep having this terrible fucking dreams, and I can't fucking sleep because of them."

"For how long?" And he shouldn't be mad at the fact Harry hasn't told him, because he's telling him now, but this on top of Zayn and that poor little girl. . . Louis feels as though he's being kept in the dark. 

"Since I got back." He sighs again, his breath hot against Louis' skin. "I think I was too tired to dream before."

Louis nods. "I'm sorry, darling. I don't know how to help."  _ With any of this _ , he doesn't say, with the flinching or the fears or the sorrow. 

"Thought if we fucked, I'd get tired, but. . . Hasn't worked so far." There's defeat in his voice, and that just isn't going to cut it. Harry's been home for less than a week; he can't be giving up already. 

"Think a bath would help?" he asks.

Harry snorts. "I'm not two."

"I don't hear any objections," Louis hums, and it's hard pretending like Harry's brain isn’t sabotaging itself and like everything isn't falling apart, but they both try, anyways. 

Harry looks. . . shy, almost as Louis starts the bath and gets undressed. It makes Louis uncomfortable, because Harry Styles isn't fucking  _ shy _ , not about a damn thing. Harry must notice Louis' stare, because he pulls off his clothes hurriedly. 

They kiss, slowly and tiredly, as the bath fills up. There's not much intent behind it, and if there is, Louis doesn't notice, and eventually they make into the bathtub, Harry pressed up against Louis' chest and Louis' legs wrapped around Harry's middle. It quiet, the bath water making quiet noises as the bath bomb (pink, per Harry's request) dissolves. Harry's eyes slip shut, and for a moment, Louis thinks he's asleep. 

He's not. "Feels like. . . like we're in  _ Pretty Woman _ , or something." He sounds exhausted, and Louis starts slowly dragging his fingers through Harry's short hair to lull him to sleep. 

"That'd make you Richard Gere, though," he mumbles, keeps his voice low on purpose. "You're definitely Julia Roberts, sweetheart. Sorry to inform you."

Harry hums quietly, and his face twitches a bit. "You've been calling me that a lot," he whispers. His fingers against Louis' leg are slowing down their circles. 

"What? Julia Roberts?"

"No." And then a beat too late, "'Sweetheart'. Didn't call me that before."

"Oh," Louis murmurs, because he hadn't realized it was a new thing. Maybe he picked it up from somewhere, maybe --

"You do it because you feel bad for me," Harry says, and well, maybe that, too. 

He doesn't say anything in response, and he doesn't think it matters because after a couple of minutes, Harry's fingers stop entirely and his heads slumps back against Louis. Louis makes sure to breathe shallowly, which maybe is stupid, but he doesn't want to wake Harry. Eventually, as the water goes lukewarm around them, Louis drifts back to sleep. 

Harry's the reasoning for him waking up, again, but this time it's not from sweet, tiny kisses against his jaw, it's from loud, gasping breaths and slight splashing. He’s almost immediately wide awake, and recognizes that Harry’s just woken up from a nightmare. It was probably terrible, probably punishing, and Louis quickly wraps his arms around him and whispers to him that he’s here, and that he’s not back there. He’s here. 

Falling asleep in the bath was stupid. They’re both ridiculously cold and pruney when they stand, Harry shakily and Louis steady. Louis grabs a towel and wraps it around Harry just like he does with Grace, and Harry lets him wipe him dry. He does the same thing with himself quickly, and when he looks back up at Harry, he’s crying silently. 

"It was an accident," is all Harry says, and fuck. It's been eight months in Harry's world, even if it's only been a handful of days in Louis', and Harry is still tormented by it. Louis shushes him and pulls him in close, and he turns his neck to find the small clock ticking away on the wall. It's three fifty; Harry managed a total of thirty five minutes of sleep. 

Another piece of Harry falls off the next morning, and it's a big one. 

Grace and him are cooking something, both quiet. It didn't start that way, but Harry didn't reciprocate her excitement and she trailed off in the middle of one of her stories and he didn't notice. Louis noticed, of course he did, but he didn't want to say anything and make Harry feel guilty. 

Louis' sitting on the bar stool that frames the kitchen, doodling on Harry's newspaper when a loud, stinging crash hits his ears. His heart stops and his head whips up, and an ear-piercing cry quickly follows. Louis stands hurriedly, scaring the dogs even more. He rushes to get a closer look. 

"Hurts," Grace wails, shoving her hand towards Louis because Harry's just staring at the broken glass on the floor. 

"Let me see," he says urgently. He crouches down in front of her and sees a decent sized cut on her small hand. There's a decent amount of blood, and he reaches over to grab a towel from the counter. He persuades the cut to stop bleeding for a little bit, long enough to see that it's not very deep. The pressure loosens around his heart slightly, and he smiles, relieved. "It's okay, babes. Just a little scratch."

"Hurts," she mumbles again. 

Louis nods, grabs her hand, and kisses it lightly. She smiles lightly, tears still in her eyes, and he stands to lead her to the sink. As he rises, though, he catches sight of Harry, who looks impossibly pale. His hands are shaking, and he's breathing heavily, and fuck, Louis realizes -- the loud noise and the blood, it's all too much for Harry right now. "Sweetheart," he says, and then kicks himself for it afterwards. "She's fine, H. She's okay."

"I'm okay, Daddy," she says, glancing at Louis for confirmation. Louis nods once. "It's just a little scratch."

But Harry's not even looking at them; he's staring at the ground, and the glass, and Louis' not sure what to do about it. Because he thinks it's the best for everybody, Louis takes Grace to the bathroom's sink instead. When they get back, Louis' chest is tight with anxiety and Harry is sitting at the kitchen table now, hand twisted around the neck of a beer. 

It's when the drinking starts. 

"Mate, you don't understand, it was fucking sick," Niall says, for the umpteenth time. He's going on and on about the concert Liam took Niall to for their second anniversary, and Niall's talked himself in so many circles, Louis can't even remember what band they saw. Apparently, though, it was fucking sick, and those are the only two words Niall seems knows. They're out for lunch, two weeks after the drinking started, and it feels nice to finally be able to breathe again. 

Harry is spiraling downhill fast, faster than Louis had ever thought possible. He's been home less than a month, but he's already taken to terrible, terrible habits; not sleeping, not eating as much as he should, not talking to anybody other than Louis and sometimes Grace, drinking too much, crying all the time. 

"And the sex afterwards." Niall whistles loudly. "It was--"

"Fucking sick?" Louis guesses, and Niall nods with a grin. 

"You wouldn't even guess have the shit he's into. I mean, the -- "

Thankfully, the universe has some pity on Louis and his phone rings. Niall frowns as Louis quickly answers the phone, even though it's from a number he doesn't recognize. "Hello?"

"Hi, is this Mr. Tomlinson?"

His smile slips a bit. "Yeah, why? Who's this?"

"I'm Shannon from London Preschool," Louis' blood runs cold, "and I'm calling in regards to your daughter."

"Is she okay?" Louis asks nervously. "Has something happened?"

"Grace is fine," the woman assures him. "But it seems as though nobody has picked her up from school."

_ Fucking Harry _ , Louis thinks, closing his eyes. He rubs at his temples, chest swelling with rage. Louis always fucking gets her from school, and the one time he asks Harry to, she's stranded. "I'm sorry, I'll be there in ten minutes. Is she with someone?" He stands, and Niall gives him a confused look. "Haz didn't get Grace from school," he grumbles, and Niall nods. 

"Go, mate. It's fine."

Louis murmurs a thank you and rushes to the parking lot to get to his car. He jams the keys in the ignition of the car, all the while fucking Shannon berates him on the dangers of leaving his kid unattended after school. 

Grace is chipper the entire drive home. And now, even with Louis' blood boiling and jaw clenched tight, the sound of her sweet voice helps him cool off a little bit. She tells him about recess and about her new friend Sebastian. Apparently, he had said he liked Grace's coloring of a bird, which she also shows to Louis. He's never quite perfected the art of lying to her to spare her feelings -- the bird is bright pink with green polka dots, for God's sake -- but he smiles and tells her it looks wonderful as convincingly as he can.

By the time they get home, the anger has all but disappeared, almost forgotten. But then he's reminded with the fact his lunch with his best mate was interrupted because Harry couldn't be relied on for one simple task. It doesn't matter that Harry spent last night puking into the toilet bed because he overdid the liquor again. It doesn't matter that Harry barely laughs anymore, barely smiles anymore, barely does anything but look fucking terrified and seconds away from running for the hills at every waking second. It doesn't matter, because Harry is Grace's father and he needs to start acting like it. He's been gone for four fucking years, and finally, he's home again for good, and he's still barely more than a stranger to Grace. 

Maybe that's not fair to say, because as soon as Louis gets the door open, she's running up the stairs to go show Harry the picture of her bird. With each thud of the stairs, Louis cringes terribly, knowing well that Harry's heart rate is picking up with every single one of them. He wants to call after her to be quiet, but yelling only makes it worse, so he sighs and sits at the kitchen table. 

Only then does he realize that the dogs didn't attack them as soon as they got inside, barking and whimpering for attention. And they also didn't scamper after Grace up the stairs. 

Again, Louis sighs and stands. He walks to the backdoor and lets the dogs in, who all then jump and yelp and nip at his feet. It tugs a smile on his face and he bends down to brush his fingers through their fur. Alfie's fur is cold to the touch; it's going to start snowing outside soon and the temperatures are dropping. Both Harry and Louis know not to leave them out for too long in the blistering heat or the freezing cold, especially little Bella. He scoops her up in his arms and sure enough, she's shivering and tries burrowing into his arms for warmth. 

"Fucking Harry," he snaps, annoyed. First forgetting about Grace, now this, it's just -- he squeezes his eyes shut to calm himself down. He loves Harry, he loves Harry, he loves Harry. Everything's going to be fine, Harry's allowed to go through rough patches, everything's  _ fine _ . 

When a screech of "Papa!" comes tumbling down the stairs and scaring the absolute shit of Louis, he knows they're far too deep into this mess for denial. 

Louis curses and sets Bella down on the floor quickly before running up the stairs. He's probably overreacting, it's probably nothing, but his fatherly-instincts don't know that and have him breathless before he reaches their bedroom. 

And it's bad. Of course it's bad. 

There's shit thrown everywhere; picture frames smashed against walls and shattered on the floor, folders of papers scattered everywhere, clothes decorating every inch of Harry and Louis' bedroom floor. All the drawers in the dressers have been flung open and emptied, their bed stripped of it's pillows and blankets. Basically, everything in the room looks like it has been demolished and destroyed, the evidence of it all littering the floor, and their scared, wide-eyed, innocent daughter is in the middle of it all. 

"Grace, come here," Louis demands sternly. She's wearing shoes so the glass won't cut her feet and he needs her over here now, and out of this room. She looks stunned, like she can't move. "Grace, now. Go to your room. Please."

"But what about Daddy?" she cries. 

Oh, right. Harry. It's not exactly hard to spot him -- he's huddled in on himself, shaking like a leaf, in the furthest corner of the room -- but when Louis does, it's painful. Harry looks as broken as everything else in this room. 

"Daddy's fine, okay, bug?" He tries to keep his voice gentle for the sake of his daughter, but it comes out broken anyway. "Let Papa take care of it, yeah? Why don't you go downstairs and feed the dogs for me?"

"But Papa -- "

"Grace, now."

She goes, but not before her bottom lip trembles. 

Louis doesn't except Harry to move or blink or flinch right now, let alone talk. So he doesn't ask what happened, he just starts going through the motions required of him today. He shuts the door and sighs quietly at the mess before him. Starting with picking up the pillows and blankets off the ground, he slowly cleans up the room. The more glass he carefully throws away, the more important papers he finds crumpled and torn, the angrier he gets. It's probably not a proper response -- sadness or shock would probably be more fitting right about now -- but it's there and clawing at his throat, almost suffocating him. 

It takes thirty-two minutes to get the room back from shambles. Harry spends every minute of it hiding away in the corner. Once Louis' finished, he's torn between wanting to yell at Harry and to comfort Grace. He decides he should check on his daughter who still needs more from him than his husband does. Before he goes, he stops by the door. 

"Will you be fine by yourself for a few minutes while I go check on Grace?"

It's a stupid question; his husband is literally balled up on the floor like a little kid. Obviously, Louis shouldn't leave him right now, probably shouldn't be leaving him for the next few days, if he's honest. Maybe he's hoping that Harry will lie to him and let him leave. 

"I'm sorry," is all Harry says. It's wet and choked and quiet. Louis wants to know how long he's been sitting there. 

"It's all right, love. Everything's okay." He's still angry, still so, so angry, but he can't hurt Harry anymore than he's already hurting. "Just get yourself into bed for me and I'll be back in a bit, okay? I'll have someone pick Grace up for a few hours and we can relax, yeah? Just me and you."

Harry doesn't respond. Louis didn't expect him to, anyway. 

Grace is a mess, and it's just -- Louis can't catch a break, can he? He can't ship her off to someone else when she's this upset, but he certainly can't have her home when Harry could quite literally be going through a mental break right now. Maybe he could call someone over instead. It'd give Grace the peace of mind knowing Louis' right upstairs, and that way he can take care of them both. But it's a week-day afternoon; most people are still at work or getting dinner ready. His mum is busy with the kids -- she's always busy with the kids -- and there's not really any one else he can turn to. 

On his side of the family, anyway. Anne, Des, Robin -- he knows for a fact they'd all come over in a heartbeat if Louis called. But Louis fears bringing Des or Anne into this house right now will only make things worse, so that leaves Robin. 

Maybe Harry would be okay with that. He liked him enough when they met briefly the other week. And there’s not really another option, is there?

To distract her until Robin gets here, Louis has her draw Harry some pictures. She obliges, distraught, and Louis refuses to let her leave his lap. 

"Daddy's okay, love," he keeps whispering to her. "He's fine, baby, please don't worry about him. He wouldn't want you worrying about him."

And she nods each time he tells her that, because even if she can't see it, Louis' never told her anything but the truth where it mattered. She believes him. 

Robin can't be more than two minutes away when Louis hear floorboards nearby creak. The footsteps that cause them are too heavy to belong to a dog, and they’re certainly not a cat's, so Louis isn't all that surprised when Harry emerges from the doorway to the kitchen. Louis watches him from his spot at the dining table, watches Harry rub at his eyes and wander aimlessly to the fridge. Watches him pull out a beer and fuck, that anger from early comes back and punches Louis in the stomach. 

"Can we try water for right now, love?" Louis asks, trying to keep his voice light. Grace is sitting frozen in his lap and she doesn't need to pick up on any negative emotions. 

Thankfully, Harry nods solemnly and places the beer back in the fridge before grabbing a water bottle. He leans against the counter as he gulps down about half of it, and both Louis and Grace watch him press the bottle against his forehead. He must have a headache. 

Louis jolts slightly when Harry's deep, raspy voice asks, "Can Daddy have a hug, Gracie?" Twenty minute ago, Harry was crumpled on the floor and now he's in the kitchen asking for hugs; Louis' confused, so of course Grace is going to be confused, too. Still, Louis nods to her and kisses her head. 

All the pain and hurt Harry's experiencing is showcased in how tight he holds Grace. He picks her up and wraps her up as tight as he can, clenches his eyes shut as his face twists into so much sorrow and grief, it makes Louis breathless. 

"Grandpa Robin is coming over, Daddy," Grace tells him softly. Her head is tucked against his neck, her arms thrown around his shoulders. 

"He is?" Harry asks. 

"Yeah," Louis answers for her. "That's fine, yeah?"

It's not, Louis can tell immediately by Harry's face. But Harry just nods and kisses Grace's face all over, probably as a distraction. He finally sets her down and busies himself with straightening out the cupboards, for some reason, but it's better than destroying something. Again. 

Grace slowly and not so subtly drifts towards Louis once more. It doesn't seem like she realizes she's even doing it, she's just. . . kids are naturally inclined to go to people and places that make them feel the safest. And maybe Harry hasn't reached that level of trust with her yet. Louis almost feels guilty for thinking that, but it's true, isn't it? She's five, he left when she was almost one, and there hasn't exactly been much time for intimate bonding between then and now. There's trust, sure, and happiness and obviously love between then, but maybe, maybe, Grace hasn't grown used to the fact that she has two dads yet. 

The knock on the door is loud enough to make Louis jump. It all but gives Harry a heart attack. 

"It's the door," Louis says dumbly. "It's just -- "

"Go answer it then," Harry breathes out while running a hand through his hair. "Should I go upstairs, I don't -- I don't want to look weak. I don't want him thinking I can't take care of my daughter, or -- or you, I don't." He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, and Louis quietly tells Grace to go answer the door. She listens, and once she's out of the room, Harry reopens his eyes. "I'm going out of my mind, Lou."

"I know. It's okay. We'll figure it out."

It feels like a big step of progress: they are both not only acknowledging the problem but also talking about how to fix it. And the way Harry looks relieved by Louis' use of we, by the fact he isn't going to be alone, makes Louis feel like they're sharing some sort of intimate moment. There certainly hasn't been enough of those, Louis thinks. So it's good. It's great.

Then they both hear a happy shout of, " _ Grandma! _ " coming from the living room and well. Fuck. 

Louis' not sure what to. He just -- freezes. Anne wasn't invited, she wasn't -- Harry just completely lost it and now the person he can't stand most is in their house. Visitors aren't something Harry appreciates lately, not even mutual friends, so this is. . . this is bad. This is bad, and it's just going to get worse. 

"Maybe you should go upstairs, then," Louis says slowly, because they can't just sit here and say nothing. "We don't need to do this today. You don't have to see her right now."

But Harry doesn't move. Neither of them do. They simply continue staring at each other like maybe if they don't look away they can pretend everything's okay, like they're somewhere else. Harry visibly swallows and that's the only reaction he gives Louis until a face is put to the approaching footsteps. 

For some reason, seeing Anne feels like some sort of big reveal to Louis. Which is dumb, because he seen her only a few weeks ago. She's not going to look any different. He checks anyways. Maybe he's trying to understand at least a little of what Harry's feeling right now, although by the looks of it, Harry doesn't know, either. 

A part of him looks like it's leaning towards sprinting towards his mother for hug. Another part of him is pleading himself to leave the area, to run for the hills and not look back. But for the most part, Harry just looks fucking pissed. 

"I don't want you here," Harry announces slowly. "I'd like you to leave. Now." There's a thread keeping him together right now, and the Lord better help them all when that thread gets cut. 

Anne looks heartbroken. Louis wants to punch someone. "But dear,” Anne says. “It's been so long, don't you want -- "

Harry's bottom lip shakes so slightly that Louis' sure he's the only to see. "No, I don't." Now he sounds heartbroken, too. His voice is shaking and he sounds breathless. "I don't want to hug you, I don't want to see you, I want you to go. I don't want to see you." He glances down, which might be a mistake because it blinks a tear out of his eye. He wipes it hurriedly, sniffles, and glances up. "I don't want you in my home, Mum. So please leave."

"We were hoping Anne and I could stay for dinner," a voice says, and shit, yeah, Robin is here, too. Louis forgot. His brain feels scrambled right now, like seeing the state of their room and his husband earlier is finally sinking in and demanding his attention. 

There's so much going on constantly now. Ever since Harry's been back, Louis feels like his head is going in circles and he can't catch his breath. How could it be that everything was so much more simple when his husband was thousands and thousands of miles away? There would never come a day that Louis wishes Harry back there -- he doesn't think it's possible for anyone to wish that on Harry, just look at how broken he is already -- but God, everything's so complicated and intense now. 

"Louis. . . " comes Anne's voice. Everyone's looking at him except for Harry, who's looking at the ground, like he's the one that needs to fix this. It's frustrating, because him and Grace are the only two people in this room who have a decent relationship with everyone else, they're the only two who don't need to fix anything, but of course he needs to be the one to make everything better.

Louis sighs. "We're not going to do this today," he announces slowly, sternly. He walks around the table and towards the kitchen, grabs a hold of Harry's arm. He tenses, of course he does, but he also shifts his body weight towards Louis in search of comfort. "Anne, Robin -- you can stay for dinner. I'll have it ready soon, but now's not the time for any of this." Louis nudges Harry forward and doesn't verbalize that he's pretty certain there will never be a good time for it. 

Dinner's tense. Not in a suffocating way, or an awkward way, just in a nobody-wants-to-be-the-first-to-bring-Harry-up-but-they-want-to kind of way. Grace seems immune to it, keeps chattering on and on about her friends at school and her teacher and the pets and anything that comes to mind, really. Robin and Anne smile and nod along, and Louis makes sure to laugh in the right places, but it's so incredibly hard because all Louis wants to do is scream. 

Anne and Des did this to Harry, is the thing. His whole fucking family pressured him to be someone he couldn't, and now his husband is curled up underneath the blankets upstairs with memories that won't let him be nipping at every fiber of his being. They would've been the picture-perfect family if Harry didn't ever go away. They would've been incredible. It's all Anne and Des' fault, and since Des isn't here, all his anger is directed at Anne and it's not dulling in the slightest as time goes by. 

It's her fault that Louis doesn't have his husband back, and he'd rather be damned than let her pretend like she isn't. 

And it’s also her fault that he’s not upstairs with Harry right now. That’s what he wanted, to have Robin downstairs with Grace while he stayed upstairs with Harry, but Louis doesn’t feel right leaving both of them down here.

He knows exactly what he's doing when he tells Grace to show Robin her new doll Louis had ordered her a little while ago. She glows as she grabs Robin's hand and rushes towards the stairs. Louis cringes as she forgets being quiet in favor of stomping up the stairs, but it's too late to tell her otherwise and all he can do is hold his breath as she gets to the top. 

Once the coast is clear, Louis gets up from the table and starts to collect the plates. He ignores the pang of irritation he feels when he walks passed Harry's empty spot and towards the kitchen sink. 

Anne follows, carrying her own plate, and offers to dry as Louis does the wash. He bites back any insults and nods. 

As soon as Louis finishes cleaning off the first plate and passes it to Anne, she gives him a soft smile. It looks genuine, too, and it makes him that much more upset. Her son who she hasn't seen in years in just upstairs and she's smiling at him. It makes him sick. 

"You know," she says conversationally, "Des was a little depressed when he came back, too. It's part of the job, honey. I wouldn't worry so much."

It's the way she says it more than what she says. Anne makes it sound so minimal, like Harry just has a little cold he can get passed in a few days. It's as though she feels she knows Harry better than him and she can make a proper judgement on his well-being. 

Louis furrows his eyebrows, jaw clenched. "He's not a little depressed, Anne. He's terrified of everything, he can't -- functioning like a normal human being is incredibly difficult for him. He's not been out of the house since he's been back, do you really think you brush it off as a little depressed?"

She's insistent. "It'll pass. He's only been back a couple of weeks."

He shuts off the sink and wipes his hands off on a hand towel. He's going to explode if he doesn't stop himself, and he can't do that to Grace, can't let her see both her fathers lose their shit in one day. It's the least he can do. 

Anne and Robin leave shortly after dinner, leaving Grace all pouty because  _ 'I didn't get to show Grandma Anne my new doll, Papa'  _ and Harry terribly, terribly upset. On a good night, he's off and tense and distant. Tonight, he looks like one big huff of air could send him tumbling.

Louis decides he's going to try and make the situation a bit brighter. He sets up a movie on the TV and tells Grace that he'll be right back, to wait for him and try not to eat all the chips. 

A part of Louis wants to leave it, to just let Harry continue to hide away from the world under their blankets. It'd certainly be the easier thing to do. But he can't do that. Louis has to at least try. 

Turns out, Harry's not hiding away in bed anymore. It makes Louis feel relieved and worried all at once. Their bathroom door is cracked, light pouring out in the dark bedroom, so Louis assumes that's where Harry is. 

He's right. Harry's in the bathroom, which looked a lot cleaner earlier than it does now. It doesn't look as much of a mess as their room was in earlier, but bottles of shampoo and various other products Louis doesn't remember buying are lined up outside of the cabinet Harry's digging around in still. 

"H," Louis murmurs, half-confused, half-amused. He waits for Harry to turn around and look at him with a tired expression to ask, "What on earth are you doing to our poor bathroom?"

Harry sighs heavily, looks around at the mess he's created. He makes a face like he doesn't remember when it got this messy, and then looks back up at Louis from the floor. "I'll clean it up. Don't worry about it."

"Okay. But that doesn't answer my question."

"No. It doesn't, does it?" Again, Harry lets out a heavy sigh before scrubbing a hand over his face. He stares straight at the floor while gnawing on his bottom lip for a moment, and then he finally looks at Louis again. Harry looks painstakingly upset. "I lost my wedding ring," he answers, voice wavering slightly. "And I have no clue where I could've left it. There's no way I've been without it for more than a few days, but I don't remember taking it off and I have no clue where I put it, I -- "

"Baby," Louis interrupts, his gut turning harshly. He almost wants to laugh, but that'd be terribly inappropriate. Louis steps over the mess Harry's created to get to the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. Harry's ring sits there on the white wood, the same place Louis had put it yesterday morning. He grabs it with shaky fingers and bends down to Harry's height to show it to him. "I'm so sorry, babe. I put it there yesterday, I just -- I saw it sitting on the counter and I figured you left it there on accident." Harry grabs it from him, slides it back on his finger where it belongs. The anxiety continues to swirl on his face, and Louis' heart aches. "I'm sorry, I forgot to tell you, I meant to."

"Stop, Lou, it's okay." And he looks like he means it. He gives Louis a small smile and nods, but he keeps twisting his wedding ring round and round as though he's reminding himself it's still there. 

"I'm so sorry," Louis says again. He reaches forward to hide Harry's hand with his own, maybe to stop his movements or comfort him, he's not sure at this point. "I know how much that means to you."

When Harry was on duty, it wasn't like he could pack a ton of shit that would remind him of home to hold him over. He could carry some stuff, of course -- photos and things of the hygiene nature, a book or two and a few other things. Bare necessities, basically, and his wedding ring was so incredibly important to him out there. It was a constant reminder of Louis and Grace. And Louis was dumb enough to move it without telling Harry. 

"I feel so stupid," Louis admits quietly. Harry smile turns softer and he shakes his head before pulling Louis in by his middle. Louis cuddles up to his chest, his head resting on Harry's neck and his whole body being held by Harry's strong arms. God, Harry's so strong, so fucking strong. 

"Don't," Harry murmurs before pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "It was a simple mistake, it's okay."

"Is that why you were so upset earlier? Why you -- you know."  _ Destroyed our room _ , he means to say, but it sounds a tad too harsh. 

Harry tenses at the thought of what he did earlier, and Louis rubs a soothing arm over his elbow. "Yeah, I just -- I don't know. Panicked, I guess." He sighs. "I'm sorry I'm so all over the place lately. And I'm sorry I made you handle my mom and dinner and Gracie all on your own tonight, I just -- "

"Don't apologize for that," Louis demands sternly. "You are allowed to feel, and you're definitely allowed to have a grudge against your parents. I wouldn't mind never talking to her again, but Grace needed more than just me, you know? And I didn't know how to ask anyone else to be there for her."

"Yeah. . . I get it. I do." He presses a long kiss to the top of Louis' hair. "Thank you for that, by the way. . . for, like. For taking care of Gracie by yourself. I couldn't do that all by myself."

"She's a good kid. Wasn't too hard."

It's not true. Louis had to handle _ everything  _ by himself. The tantrums, the crying, the brief spurts of rebellion. She was typically on her best behavior when Harry was home, so he's only had to handle a handful of her fits. But he's home now. It's going to change, eventually. She'll learn to adjust to Harry, and Harry will get to catch up on all the things he's missed out on. 

"I want her to love me as much as she loves you," Harry whispers. 

Louis' heart clenches painfully. "She does, babe. She loves you so much."

"I know she does. But not as much as she loves you."

"Harry. . . "

Harry squeezes him gently, and neither of them say anything else. There's no point in trying to deny something that's true. 

The next morning, Grace is just out of control. She's fussy and angry and won't let anything be. If Harry makes her eggs, she wants pancakes. If Louis asks her to brush her teeth, he's being mean. It's beyond irritating, and Harry looks so overwhelmed with it all that Louis wants to send him upstairs. 

"Gracie, please," Harry huffs, trying to do her hair. She's running late and Louis is trying to make her a half decent lunch, so Harry got puy in charge of hair. She hates wearing it down, but Harry's fingers aren't well-practiced in hair tying. He's shaking badly, too, his nerves shot, which doesn't help him at all. 

"It hurts," she whines, stomping her foot. "I want it down!"

"Then wear it down," Harry says, with an edge to his voice. Louis glances up worriedly from where he's hurriedly putting together a sandwich. "You said you wanted it up."

"I changed my mind!"

"Okay, okay, watch your tone," Harry tells her, standing up from where he was bent down behind her. He hands her the brush sitting on the dining room table. "Will you please brush your hair again, then? I made it all messy."

"No," she declines, crossing her arms. She sits on the floor, and Louis sighs loudly. She's normally a very patient person, but this morning, she's anything but. "I don't wanna go to school."

"You have to go," Harry argues, sitting down at the table. 

She looks up at him, challenging him. "Why?"

"Because," is all Harry has to argue with. He pauses, and then says, "I thought you had fun at school."

"Well maybe I don't," Grace bites back.

“Really? Mrs. Kenney said you were a gold-star student, remember?”

Grace huffs. “Well maybe I don’t want to be anymore.”

"Grace, knock it off," Louis sighs, finally having heard enough. "Be nice to your father."

She gives him a bold, defiant look, and Louis knows what she's about to say before she even says it. He cuts his eyes at her and is about to tell her to be quiet when she snaps, "Maybe I don't  _ want _ him to be my dad!"

It's a kid thing to say, Louis knows it. She doesn't mean anything by it, and she's just saying it to disagree with Louis. Whatever either of them could say, she'd counter it somehow. Louis gave her easy access to saying something like that, and he wishes he could get her to take her words back but it's too late. It's way too late. 

Harry looks devastated. Heartbroken. He's staring down at her with so much hurt in his eyes, it nearly shatters Louis' heart. 

"Grace, I swear to God," Louis hisses. He goes around the small island and bends down to her height, anger rushing through his veins. "You do not say things like that ever, you hear me?"

She stares up at him, silent, but he knows she knows she did something wrong. 

"How many times have I told you that words can hurt people?" Louis seethes.

"I'm sorry, Papa," she says, eyes wide. 

Louis gives her a cold stone look. "I'm not the one you should be apologizing to." 

But as she turns to say sorry to Harry, he gets up and leaves the room. His face is streaked in tears as he goes, and Louis has never been so disappointed in Grace until now. He stands back to his feet, not in the mood to comfort her, and goes back to packing her lunch. 

"Is Dad mad at me?" she asks, voice small. Louis can't see her from where she's sat on the floor. 

"Not mad, no. But you hurt his feelings very badly." She doesn't say anything, and Louis finishes packing her lunch in silence. Once he's done, he tucks it away into her backpack and turns to look at her again. There are tears in her eyes. "I know things around here have been different lately. I know you're adjusting, and I know you're in a bad mood this morning, but that doesn't mean you can hurt people, okay?"

"I didn't mean to!"

"I know you didn't." He sighs and beckons her to stand. She does, and makes an immediate beeline to him, hugging his knees. "Go say goodbye to Dad, and then we need to leave. You're already going to be late."

She goes, and Louis' gut pulls on him to stop her. He doesn't know if Harry's in their room crying, but a nasty part of him tells himself that'd be a good thing -- maybe then Grace would see that her father needs some comfort right now. She knows to be quiet around him and not to make any sudden moves; she can learn to be a little nicer to him, too. 

When she comes back less than a minute later, she looks guilty. "I didn't mean to make him cry, Papa.”

"It's okay, darling." He brushes his fingers through her hair and then pats her head. "He'll be fine. He's okay. Let's just get you to school, yeah?"

When Louis gets back home, he fully expects to walk into something like he did the other day. Harry's going to be in shambles, or the house is, or Harry's throwing up in a toilet from drinking too much. He walks to their bedroom, dread pulling on his heartstrings as Bella follows him. Alfie and Clifford didn't great him at the door, so they're either with Harry or outside. 

He pushes the bedroom door open, and is pleasantly surprised when he sees Harry curled up in bed, seemingly innocent. There's a beer opened on the nightstand next to him, but Louis decides now's not the time to berate him for day-drinking. Alfie is snuggled up behind Harry's curled legs, while Clifford is pressed against his middle and Molly is laying at the bottom of the bed. Ever since Harry got back, Clifford's been more protective of him, which is probably a good thing. Milo is laying next to Harry's head on the pillow, purring softly as Harry strokes his fur. 

All five of their heads turn when Louis opens the door. Bella barks. 

"Why're you leaving out poor Bella?" Louis asks, scooping her up off the floor. She wiggles around in his arms. 

"She was invited," Harry says. "She just doesn't like me much."

"'Cause she doesn't know who you are," Louis argues. He moves to join them all in bed, choosing to sit criss-cross behind Harry's back. Harry presses his back against Louis' knee while Bella squirms out of his arms and towards Alfie. Clifford is too dominant and scary for her liking, so she normally chooses to run with Alfie and Molly. 

"I've been home for over a month, and I'm home all day. It's not like I go anywhere. She just hasn't warmed up to me for some reason."

Harry doesn't sound like he's taking it personal or anything, so Louis lets it be. Harry's not a child; he understands that Bella's an anxious puppy who is still somewhat new to their home. 

"You and Grace should go out and do something one day," Louis says slowly, as if not to spook Harry with the idea. He runs his fingers through Harry's hair, stopping to trace the scar behind his ear every once and awhile. According to his letters, Harry got it by smacking his head on the side of the truck after tripping over nothing. 

"You could take her out for ice cream, or something,” Louis tells him. 

Harry's quiet for a long moment, and Louis fears he pushed his luck. Eventually, he sighs loudly and turns around to his back. All the animals adjust accordingly, except Milo who just curls further into Harry's head. Harry's looking up at him with clear apprehension, mouth drawn in a firm line. To hopefully ease some of his tension, Louis goes back to playing with his hair. 

"I do need to get out of this house," Harry admits. "I went from doing shit for eighteen hours a day to doing absolutely nothing. It's not fun waiting around for you to get home."

Louis knows Harry's not implying that Louis' doing anything wrong, so he waits for him to continue. 

"And I also know that I need to work on my relationship with her. That it's not going to just come naturally like I thought it would." He looks sad. "But I don't think we should just jump straight away into me going out by myself with her. 'm scared in my own home, God only knows what I'll be like outside."

"You're right. I didn't think of that."

Harry moves again, this time on his side so his body is towards Louis. The dogs huff in unison before getting comfortable surrounding him again, but Milo leaves with an irritated flick of the tail. Harry sets a steady hand on Louis' knee and squeezes. 

"Enough's enough, yeah?" Harry says. "I know I need to get my head sorted. For Gracie and for me, but for you especially."

Louis sets his hand on top of Harry's, frowning. "I'm fine, H. You don't need to worry about me."

"You're tired and need a break," Harry argues. "You're waiting on me to step up in parenting her. I've been trying to help -- "

" -- which I appreciate, and you're doing a great job, but you don't need to do anything you aren't ready for," Louis finishes. He doesn't like knowing Harry feels like he's failing them, because he's not. And it's not like Louis can't take caring for her on his own. He's been doing that for years. 

Harry stays quiet for a little while until he turns to Louis, eyes wide. "I want to go out," he says firmly. "Maybe. . . maybe a movie?"

"Movies are loud," Louis reminds softly. Harry doesn't like loud things anymore. 

Harry looks back down. "That's true."

"I could ask Liam if we could come over soon," Louis says. "It's a small step, but it's somewhere. You could finally meet his wife."

Harry nods once. "Yeah. We could."

"We don't have to. I was just saying."

"No, yeah, that's -- " he looks back up at Louis. "Her name is Elizabeth, right? And she does -- she's a teacher. Right?"

Louis nods. “Yeah. She’s sweet. You’d like her.”

“Okay,” Harry agrees quietly. He lets out a deep breath. “Tomorrow night, maybe?”

Louis grins. That was easier than he thought it would be. It proves to him that Harry’s really trying now. Not that he wasn’t before, but. Right now, he’s pushing himself, and Louis is appreciative of his efforts. 

“It’s a date,” Louis teases, and Harry groans quietly, shaking his head. He leans forward and tucks his head against Louis’ thigh. 

“Haven’t taken you out on a date in years,” Harry whispers guilty. “Like, five, probably.”

Louis shrugs. “I don’t mind. We’re married, like. We don’t need to be doing all that all the time.”

Harry shakes his head against and sits up. He presses a kiss to Louis’ shoulder and wraps his arms around his waist loosely. His skin is warm. “Give me a few more months, and then I’ll take you out on a proper date. Promise.”

“Alright,” Louis agrees, biting back a smile. 

Liam’s goes smoothly, and Louis is beyond grateful. They all needed a win. 

Harry sticks by his side the entire time, but it’s not too obvious. And Grace sits in his lap during the movie Liam turns on, and even though both Louis and Harry know that it’s because she’s still feeling guilty for what she said to Harry yesterday morning -- she demanded to sleep in their bad last night and cuddled up close with Harry -- it still feels good. 

When they get home, Harry’s a bit deflated, and Louis was expecting that. He could tell he was playing up his mood, trying to be someone he’s not right now. He’s still in a decent mood, though, so Louis doesn’t dwell on it much. 

That night, Harry’s facing him and they’re kind of just staring at each other. It’s a bit weird, but Louis spent four years barely looking at Harry’s stupid face, so he’ll take weird. After a few minutes, Harry pulls his hand out from under the covers and sets it on Louis’ cheek. 

“I know where I want to go next,” he says quietly. “But we can’t bring Gracie.”

Louis hums. “Where do you want to go?”

“Bradford,” Harry says firmly. Before Louis can ask why the hell they’d go to Bradford, Harry explains. “That’s Zayn’s hometown. That’s where he’s buried. I just want to see his grave. Say goodbye to him properly.”

His eyes are wet, so he closes them, maybe in the hopes that Louis didn’t see. 

“Okay,” Louis agrees easily. It’ll break his heart, being there with Harry as he says goodbye to his dead best mate, but he’ll be there anyway. It’s the least he can do. “Okay. We can do that.”

“You sure? It’s a little bit of a drive.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Louis promises. 

“Thanks,” Harry whispers. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

They fall asleep that night, the both of them. Harry wakes around five and his shuffling wakes Louis up, too, but Louis doesn’t care because this is the first night Harry got a decent amount of sleep after going to bed sober. It’s a step in the right direction, and that’s all Louis can ask for. He doesn’t care if they start with baby steps, so long as there’s movement. 


End file.
